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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776821">I Won't Move Until This Stops</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordukai/pseuds/Mordukai'>Mordukai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Borderlands (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Established Relationship, Found Family, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Relapsing, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:02:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordukai/pseuds/Mordukai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordecai is hurting, bad. He's been trying to quit drinking, for Talon's sake, but sometimes everything gets too much for him and he reverts to his old coping mechanisms. Things are especially bad at night, when Brick and Tina are sleeping and he's alone with his thoughts. Set some time between Fight for Sanctuary and Borderlands 3.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brick/Mordecai (Borderlands)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Won't Move Until This Stops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story has graphic descriptions of self harm, alchol abuse and suicidal ideation. Please look after yourself and don't read it if you think you might be triggered by it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s dark. Darkness on Pandora is absolute. It’s probably not safe, but he doesn’t care. He’s alone, outside. Talon is off hunting somewhere and he doesn’t know when the bird will return. He’s glad he’s not here to witness this, though. He drops his head to his knees and rests there, eyes closed, trying to so hard to talk himself out of what he’s about to do. But it’s no use. The urges are too strong. And anyway, he had his chance to fight it. He could have woken Brick and Tina. Told them that he was struggling, that it was going to be a bad night, but he didn’t do that. Instead, he picked up his gun and his knife and the bottles and left their camp. He had walked for over an hour, Talon flying soundlessly above him, until he felt far enough away. How far did you have to go to break a promise? Further than where he is now, probably, and yet he’s going to break that promise anyway. Because he’s a fuck up. This was inevitable, really, he thinks, as he reaches for the first bottle.</p>
<p>There are skags nearby. He can hear them. He wonders if they’ll come near him. He’s sitting with his back pressed up against a rock face, not far from the road that winds through the area. It’s cold, bitterly cold, but the booze is beginning to warm him. He’s drinking spirits neat. The taste is horrific, but the burn in his throat is comforting, and anyway, he’s not doing this for fun. The fuzzy numbness is creeping up him, and he welcomes it like an old friend. He used to always feel like this. It takes the edge off life, and life on Pandora is one sharp ass blade.</p>
<p>Images of Brick and Tina and Talon appear in his mind, but he pushes them away. They are too good for him. Tina with her goofy smile and her crazy schemes, always moving, always causing trouble, telling stories. Talon, who filled the hole left by Bloodwing, who he promised to raise properly, who relies on him like a father. And Brick. Brick, the man who stood by him though everything. They are all too good for him.</p>
<p>He takes another long swig from the bottle. It’s his second and it’s really kicking in now. He no longer feels cold, despite the air temperature. Even the sounds of the skags are muffled, like he’s trying to listen to them through water. He wonders absently whether they’ll find him. How long would is take him to die if they tore him apart with their teeth? It would be painful, regardless of how much alcohol he consumed. Would he scream? Or would he just lie there and take it? It’s an interesting thought experiment. Exactly how much would it hurt? He’s twisting the metal bottle cap between his fingers. It has sharp edges, and he notices the pain through his drunken haze. What part of him would they attack first? Sharp teeth tearing through his clothes, ripping open the flesh beneath. Jagged tears, through skin and muscle, down to the bone. Would they tear him limb from limb, or would they go straight for his guts, disembowelling him with sharp claws? Would there be anything left for people to find in the morning? Maybe just torn clothing, and a smear of blood on the hard dirt ground.</p>
<p>A sharp jolt of pain brings him back to reality. The jagged edge of the bottle cap has caught the soft pad of his thumb and he can feel the blood welling up. He has a sudden, uncontrollable urge to watch it, and he flicks his flashlight on. The brightness makes him blink, but then his gaze settles on the ruby bead of blood sitting on his skin. There’s something mesmerising about it. He presses his thumb to squeeze out more blood. Maybe he doesn’t have to wait for the skags. He takes his knife from his belt. It has a bone handle, smooth in his hand, and he’s kept the blade sharp. Sniping is his preferred method of fighting, but on Pandora you can never be too careful, and having something that can deal damage up close and personal is always recommended. He presses the flat of the blade against the palm of his hand, feeling the comforting cold of the metal. He hasn’t decided exactly what he’s going to do, yet. There’s a tiny corner of his brain, somewhere beyond the alcoholic fog, that’s screaming Brick, Tina, Talon, Brick, Tina, Talon, but it’s quiet, so quiet, and he has always found comfort at the bottom of a bottle or in the pain of a cut. Always turned to those first before people. Before friends, lovers, family. It’s what he knows best, after all. He undoes the wrappings around his left arm. He lifts them free to reveal the skin beneath, light brown with a criss-crossing pattern of silver scars marking it from his inner wrist to his shoulder. Everyone on Pandora has scars, but most aren’t as regular or deliberate as his. It’s been a while and there are no open wounds. He’s going to fix that, though.</p>
<p>He presses the blade against his skin, drags it across almost gently, caressing his skin. It leaves a thin red line in its path. Blood wells up, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. He barely felt the pain, and what’s the point in cutting yourself if you don’t feel it? The whole point is to feel the pain. So he moves the blade to a fresh spot, pushes down again, drags the blade across his skin harder, faster, deeper. Opens up his skin as if the feelings will flow out with the blood. Again and again. Until the pain is strong enough to compete with the numbness. Until he’s cut up his arm so much that he can’t find a new place to cut. Until he’s tired, so tired. He lets the knife slip from his fingers, lets himself slump sideways so that he’s lying on the ground. Closes his eyes. Lets the pain and the cold and the alcohol consume him.</p>
<p>It’s almost peaceful.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“Brick!”</p>
<p>He aches all over, and his arm stings, and there’s the smell of vomit in the air. He’s lying on the ground, and he can taste vomit as well. He groans but doesn’t open his eyes. He guesses that this means that the skags didn’t get him after all. He feels mildly disappointed.</p>
<p>“Brick!” That voice again. High pitched, filled with more anxiety than he’s ever heard it have before. “No no no no no!” He feels hands on his body, trying to roll him over and he groans again. His face is in a pool of his own sick. He can feel it in sticky in his beard. “He’s alive!” It’s Tina, Tiny Tina, who shouldn’t have had to see him like this. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid having to face her. He wishes she would just go away, leave him to rot in peace. There’s a shriek from above, and he thinks that it’s Talon, and then the ground shakes as Brick stomps over. The man doesn’t say anything, just scoops him up into his arms and carries him fire man style home.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Brick hands him a glass of water, which he gulps down. He’s dehydrated, and he needs to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He wipes his face with the cloth Brick hands him and then watches as Brick washes and dresses his wounds in silence. Mordecai can’t tell whether he’s angry, or sad, or if he just doesn’t know what to say. Tina’s off playing with Talon so he’s grateful of that at least. He winces as Brick cleans a particularly deep cut.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says.</p>
<p>Brick says nothing, just wraps a clean bandage around Mordecai’s arm. He’s surprisingly gentle.</p>
<p>“I-” He almost promises that he won’t do it again, but what’s the point? He broke the last promise. What’s to say he won’t do it again?</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” says Brick, finally, and Mordecai realises that there are tears in his eyes. Now that’s a sight that he never though that he’d see, and it makes him feel desperately sad. He didn’t want this aftermath, hadn’t thought about having to explain himself.</p>
<p>“What’s to get, man?” he says, shrugging Brick’s hands away. “I’m a fuck up.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that,” says Brick, and Mordecai finds himself being swept up into a bear hug, Brick’s arms gripping him painfully tight. “Never fucking say that.”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna snap my spine,” Mordecai manages to choke out. “I can’t breathe, Brick.”</p>
<p>Brick lets him go. He’s not smiling, his face is hard. “If Talon hadn’t found you…” he says. “Mordi, I need you.”</p>
<p>“No one needs me.” Fuck, but his head is pounding. Why didn’t the skags get him? Next time he’ll just put a bullet in his brain. It’ll be quicker, less messy.</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking say that!” Brick shouts. Mordecai looks at him and realises that he is angry. “I should have woken up,” he says. “I should have noticed.”</p>
<p>Those words cut Mordecai deeper than any of his self-inflicted wounds. He shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not your fault, Brick. None of this is your fault.” He pats the bed beside him. “Come here.”</p>
<p>For a moment Brick doesn’t move, but then he drops down beside Mordecai. Mordecai leans his head on Brick’s broad shoulder. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says again. “It got too much.” He doesn’t have to explain any further. Brick wraps an arm around him and holds him.</p>
<p>A tear drips from the end of his nose, surprising him. He hadn’t realised that he was crying. But then Brick is pressing his lips against his, and they’re kissing, and the bad feelings recede ever so slightly. Mordecai wraps his hands around the back of Brick’s neck and whimpers into his mouth as one of Brick’s massive hands runs along his jawbone, up his cheek, through his hair.</p>
<p>After a while Brick pulls away. “How can I fix it?” he asks. </p>
<p>Mordecai sighs sadly. “I don’t think you can,” he says. “I don’t think anyone can. Sometimes the bad feelings just take over.”</p>
<p>“I’ll punch the bad feelings,” says Brick earnestly, which elicits a small chuckle from Mordecai.</p>
<p>“Wish life was that simple, man.”</p>
<p>“What if you tell me that the bad feelings are there,” says Brick, slowly. “And I’ll hold you, like this.” He wraps his arms tightly around Mordecai again. “And I won’t move until they stop. Deal?”</p>
<p>“Deal,” says Mordecai, head resting on Brick’s chest.</p>
<p>Brick stands up, Mordecai still in his arms. “Breakfast time,” he says, and Mordecai groans.</p>
<p>“No, please,” he says, but Tina has appeared at the doorway, yelling something about pancakes, and as Brick carries Mordecai out of the room, he realises that he doesn’t have a choice. And he realises that, despite the hangover, he doesn’t really mind.</p>
<p>“Hold onto this,” he whispers to himself. “Hold onto this feeling for next time.” Because more likely than not there is going to be a next time. Recovery isn’t linear. But, with Brick’s arms wrapped around him, recovery feels slightly more achievable.</p>
<p>He wonders if Tina cooked the pancakes herself, and hopes that, if she did, she stuck to a proper recipe this time. The last ones were rather more explosive than Mordecai would have liked.</p>
<p>The End.</p>
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